


Four Times James and Juliet Don't Wake in the Flash Sideways and One Time They Do

by PortlyPuppy



Category: Lost
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Flash Sideways Verse, Made For Each Other, Soulmates, no specific timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PortlyPuppy/pseuds/PortlyPuppy
Summary: Four near misses between Sawyer and Juliet in the afterlife and one sweet hit. Set in a non-specific time period in the flash sideways. Each chapter is set in a different sideways scenario.
Relationships: Juliet Burke/James "Sawyer" Ford
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. Teach

There are only a few cars in the lot when Sawyer pulls in, so he figures he’s early. He had intended to be early, but perhaps not this early. He cuts the ignition and remains in his truck for a while, drumming his thumbs against the wheel in time to the Hits radio song he has on for his daughter.

Clementine unclips her belt but he puts his hand on her arm. “Not yet, kiddo.”

His nerves are high, and he wants to wait until he sees some other folk arrive, not keen to enter a room full of teachers on his own.

“C’mon now, get a damned grip,” he thinks. “You’re a 40-year-old PI, no need to be scared of a bunch of Junior School teachers.”

Yet, sitting in the car isn’t helping improve his nerves either, so when he sees a blonde woman striding towards the door, he bundles Clementine out of the truck and strides after her.

The blonde, however, is clearly in a rush.

“’Scuze'me, m’am?” he calls out after her, as a number of papers slip from the file in her arms and flutter down behind her.

She whips around and the sight of her face takes his breath away. It’s not just that she’s beautiful (because she definitely is) but he has an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, like he’s seen her before and should know who she is.

Her expression, however, is pure irritation. She clips that he’s early and needs to wait in the hallway, before noticing her discarded papers in his hand.

She’s a teacher.

“Oh,” she says softly, and when she takes them from him a look of bewilderment passes across her face.

“Have we…” she begins, but then Clementine reaches them – “Ms. Carlson!” and she hurriedly regains her composure.

“Ah, hello there, Clementine,” she smiles at her and turns to face Sawyer.

“You must be her father?” Her face is neutral now he notices, the smile hidden. “I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before?”

“No, this is my first time at one of... er, one of these things,” he replies, feeling very uncomfortable.

“Well, if you can just wait here for now,” she says, gesturing to the empty hallway. “Someone will let you in when we’re ready.”

Sawyer takes a seat on a comically small chair and stretches out his arm for Clementine to join him.

“That’s my favorite teacher, dad!” she says, and, somehow, he’s not surprised.

* * *

The blonde, Ms Carlson, is the last teacher he gets to speak to. He’d expected to speak to only one person, given that Clementine is only in junior high, but actually there are multiple, specializing in different subjects.

The first teacher, Mrs Goodspeed (“Call me Annie”) is pretty much what he expected. A kooky English teacher with wild curly hair and knitted cardigans, who enthuses so much to see him, and then so vigorously lectures him on the importance of stable male role models, that he’s relieved to leave her and face the sober face of the Math teacher, Ms Faraday.

By the time he reaches Ms Carlson his is brain is full of 11-year-old spelling and math problems, with a checklist of all the things he apparently needs to do to help Clementine try and get into a good college. 

College, his daughter could make it to a good college. It’s hard to comprehend.

He exhaled as he sits down to face her and she is still a little stern explaining carefully the basics of Clementine’s Science curriculum.

“Right, I got it, he replies, looking down at Clementine.

This whole night is a challenge for him, but he’s determined not to let his stress show externally. Determined to do the best he can, the best by Clementine. Ever since he’d straightened himself out two years ago, he’d set his daughter as his main priority in life, determined to involve her more in his life. And, yes, it has taken time and effort, but now here he is, listening to her reports on parent teacher night.

The teacher finally turns her full smile on him.

“Basically, I just want to say Mr Ford, how encouraged I am that Clementine tries so hard in my lessons. I know Science isn’t her favorite – she’s more of an English Lit girl I hear. I understand she has an excellent reading level.”

He beams at this, unbeknownst to him unleashing his dimples. Is this something that she could have inherited from him? He’d always been a reader too, still was in fact. A paperback stuffed in his jacket right this moment. It warms him that she could have inherited something from him and he doesn't immediately have to worry any more that it'll be a negative.

Clementine looks up at him shyly from under her dark blonde fringe, and Ms Carlson now smiles at them both.

He feels the sensation again. That he somehow knows this woman or has met her before.

In a smart blouse and fitted jacket, she is more professional looking than the other teachers, but she’s wearing the kind of dangly jewellery that softens her and makes her more approachable. Despite her initial frostiness, he can see why she’s a hit with the pupils.

Realizing he’s very obviously staring, he looks down but then can’t help himself, and looks back up, meeting her gaze with a slightly raised eyebrow.

He doesn’t usually go for blondes, preferring a sultry brunette, or an animated redhead, but the blonde hair is fundamentally her somehow. She wouldn’t work without it.

Her smile hasn’t faded, and he’s calculating how he can see her again, when one of the other teachers approaches and taps her on the shoulder.

“Juliet, we’re doing refreshments in the hall afterwards. Don’t forget.”

She thanks them and then quickly looks back at Sawyer. “Parents are invited along as well, you know. If you have a penchant for warm apple juice and muffins, I’d strongly advise considering it.”

“Penchant, hey?” he teases, noting the lack of ring on her left hand.

But then Clementine pulls at his arm and he’s back down to earth with a bang. This is her teacher. Hadnt he just thought about how his main priority right now is Clementine, his relationship with her the most important he has in his life. She is his constant.

And he can’t threaten any of that by trying to date her teacher.

“You know, as much as I love warm apple juice, I’ve got to get this one home to her mom.”

A look of confusion and then embarrassment flashes across her face, and he finds it physically hurts him to refuse her.

To refuse Juliet. _Juliet_. Her name is Juliet. He at least has this one personal snippet of her.

She quickly controls her features and says goodbye to Clementine, giving him a brief smile, before shuffling her papers together to indicate their time together is over.

“Bye Ms Carlson” Clementine calls, and Sawyer gruffly says “bye then” before they head out of the room. He feels guilty for the embarrassment and confusion he's caused her. It was undeniable he'd been flirting with her but when she'd responded he'd shut it down. He feels like an ass. 

Despite this, he looks back only once, briefly, through the outside window. But she’s not looking, her blonde hair in front of her face as she gathers up her belongings. She'll soon forget about him, and the thought of this pains him again.

Resisting the urge to run back and talk to her, he follows Clementine into the parking lot, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

“So, kid – where do you want go for dinner?”


	2. Coffee shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet Burke is down on her luck and lonely this Christmas. Will a chance meeting with a stranger in a coffee shop make things better? And will she work out where she knows him from?

It’s his leather jacket she notices first. That and the fact that he looks like he’s casing the joint, but she decides to ignore that for now.

You don’t much see leather jackets like it these days, especially not in the heat of LA. It’s a rich, warm brown and looks and lived in, in a good way. Like it’s a classic that’s aged well, like a fine wine. She imagines that it smells good.

Then she catches herself. This is her first positive thought in days, if not weeks, and it’s about the leather jacket of a stranger in a coffee shop. This is not evidence of a healthy mind.

Despite this, she lets herself watch the stranger for lack of anything better to do.

He sits hunched at the counter; his posture more suited for a dive bar than a slightly-generic-yet-still-affluent-coffee shop.

She recognizes that he doesn’t want to be seen – his eyes are constantly roaming the room but in a way where he doesn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.

She recognizes it from her own behavior after her divorce. Hiding from her husband, trying to make herself invisible, the feeling of shame visibly stamped all over her forehead.

The stranger isn’t her usual type but there isn’t much else on offer in this almost empty room. It’s the nearest place outside the hospital that serves half-decent coffee, but it's that weird gap between Christmas and New Year, so the only people there have to be there and would all rather be somewhere else. Their faces all miserably show this want.

The mystery guy on the other hand is tall and broad with longish hair and the kind of looks that could be matinee idol but with a roguish swagger.

Her stomach growls and she recalls that she hasn’t eaten anything except from a slightly stale Apollo bar from the hospital vending machine since Boxing Day brunch, and it’s now 4.07pm on the 27th December.

She reluctantly approaches the counter looking for a staff member, but no-one is around, and she has to hit an old-fashioned bell for attention.

No-one appears so she stands awkwardly waiting, shooting the guy a polite smile when he looks her way. He, however, immediately looks away.

 _Dream on Juliet_ , she thinks to herself. You’re a washed-up divorcee with an ex-husband who indiscreetly cheated on you not once, not twice, but three times, and you’re all alone at Christmas. It’s not surprising this guy doesn’t want to look at you. You blatantly reek of desperation.

He does eventually look back her way.

“I’m guessing you might want to think about helping yourself” he says, nodding at the tray of brownies out on display. “Don’t think anyone is coming.”

He gives her a quick smile and she can’t resist smiling back. This is the most non-work interaction she’s had in days, with the exception of a quick video call between shifts with her sister and nephew, and that had been too short. The video had frozen on her nephew’s face and she automatically rubs her thumb over the screen at the memory of it.

“I mean, I did ring the bell so it’s not like I didn’t try” she says, staring longingly at the cake, wondering if she, Juliet Burke, law-abiding citizen could actually swipe something without paying for it.

The guy raises an eyebrow at her but doesn’t get a chance to reply as a member of the café staff finally appears out front.

“Sorry…” replies Juliet, even though she didn’t actually do anything. “I was ringing your bell. I’d like to order one of these.” She points at the brownie.

The server doesn’t smile. “I heard.”

“Great, well I’d like a brownie, please.” Juliet says extra politely, trying to overcompensate for her guilt.

“It’s a blondie” the server replies, still stone-faced. “That’ll be four dollars.”

“Such great service here,” the attractive guys says under his breath.

Juliet gets out her purse, only then realizing she’s left her credit card in her car. “Oh,” she says, shaking the coins out onto the countertop and raking through them. “I don’t have my card” she continues, “and I’ve only got three dollars sixty.” She’s embarrassed to hear the panicked tone in her voice.

The server stands with his arms crossed, unmoved, and Juliet wants to yank at the pretentious man bun on the top of his head.

“Please” she asks softly.

The server moves to put the cake back, but the attractive guy stops him.

“I’ll pay for it,” he says. His eyes meet Juliet’s. “The blondie.”

At the word blondie, a flash of recognition flicks across his face. She feels it too and takes a step back from him, confused.

“Er, thank you” she says to him, cheeks burning. To her embarrassment, she feels tears starting to sting her eyes and bends he head down to slide the coins back into her purse.

The server passes over the cake and disappears into the back room again.

The stranger, however, is still staring at her, his mouth slightly open in thought.

“Rough day, huh?” he asks her.

She blinks back the tears. “Yeah. Well, actually a rough week. You know this time of year.”

“Right.” He nods like he gets it. “You work at the hospital?”

“Yes,” she replies, and then continues: “I nearly lost someone today, a patient.”

She’s not sure why she’s telling him this, but it’s not like she’s got anyone else to tell, and he’s still there, listening to her with great big, concerned eyes. He’s easy to tell in some way.

“Nearly?”

“Yes,” she clarifies. “They are having surgery first thing in the morning… but it’s tight.”

“Ah,” he says, giving her a small smile. “Then it ain’t over.”

She looks back at him and he leans towards her. “Look, I don’t know you very well, but I got this feeling that you can do this.” He looks urgent. “Don’t give up.”

As he holds her gaze, she instinctively moves closer and gently nods her head. She smiles and has the urge to ask him something. Anything. His name, what he does, would he like a drink sometime?

But his attention has been diverted. He’s looking at his watch again. His agitation is back and the spell between them is broken.

She checks her own watch and realizes she should go. She needs to eat, shower, and sleep before her big shift tomorrow morning.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” she says quietly, scooping up her belongings and turning towards the door. “Thank you again for the blondie.”

“Hey,” he calls after her, and looks like he's about to say something important... “Don’t forget to eat it.”

It's not what he wanted to say, she can tell.

She returns his smile, a little sadly, and then pauses to hold the door open for a man entering the café. He’s sensibly dressed, in his early 40s, and has striking blues that bulge prominently from his face. She freezes at the sight of him, her blood running cold. Staring, she can’t work out where she knows him from, but some instinct is yelling at her to get as far away from him as possible. She strides away from the building as quickly as she can.

When she reaches her car in the lot, she sits for a few minutes behind the steering wheel. Trying to calm herself, she scrolls through Christmas photos of her nephew that have just arrived. He looks ecstatic beside a pile of presents in a paper party hat.

A few minutes later, she drives back past the coffee shop to find it surrounded by police cars with their lights flashing.

Slowing in the traffic jam, she spots the bug-eyed being led towards one of the cars with his hands behind his back. She strains out of her car, ignoring the rain, and is stunned to see his captor is the leather-jacket clad guy from the coffee shop.

Amazed, she stares at him through the traffic. He’s in the police. It all makes now. Somehow, it fits.

He catches her eye and raises one eyebrow with a grin, before pushing his prisoner into the car and then disappearing around the other side.

Losing him behind the other parked cars, she leans back against her seat with a sigh. The blondie is still on the seat next to her and so she grabs it and takes a bite.

It’s delicious. As the taste floods her sense, things suddenly don’t seem so bad. Tomorrow is another day and her life is still ahead of her. Ahead of her and full of potential, rather than stretching endlessly out ahead of her.

Switching on the radio, she hums along as the traffic clears. She drives on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sad, depressed alt-world Juliet who hasn't been hardened by her experience on the island. I hope you enjoy the way I tried to squeeze in a cheesy reference to "Blondie" :D  
> Btw, the chapters are going to alternate between a Sawyer and a Juliet perspective, except for the last chapter, which will be both.


	3. Bank Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another alternate timeline reset and James and Juliet are destined to meet again. But are they ready for each other?

It was an ordinary Tuesday, much like the one before it, and Sawyer was starting to get bored.

The only difference with this Tuesday was that he’d been drafted to work in the bank building of the suburban mall, where he currently worked as a security guard, due to someone else calling in sick.

He’d got the job on his return from Sydney and it was usually a dull job, but it was a straight job, and that’s what he needed right now. It was easy and he knew he could do it without much effort while he figured out what to do next.

So, on a normal day he’d be patrolling the mall, looking for shoplifters, but today he was stood stationary in the bank, silently watching the customers come and go. He preferred the patrol; standing still all day wasn’t a job for him.

One of the clerks had also called in sick – was there some kind of bug going around? – so only one kiosk was open, and the queue of customers moved slowly. It was before lunch and the air was hot and sticky. The numbers inside had dwindled, and Sawyer was forcing himself not to watch the hands on the analogue clock on the wall as they slowly circled round.

A woman with thick blonde hair entered and caught his eye, as she shook fat wet raindrops from her jacket. Her hair was so blonde, golden blonde, yellow almost, and it reminded him of something warm and good. He continued to watch her as she let an older man with a stick pass in front of her in the queue, smiling and exchanging a few polite words with him as she did so. Her smile was infectious, apparently, and he found himself smiling too – smiling at the back of her blonde curly head as she faced away from him in the counter queue.

What the hell was wrong with him? Since when did he smile at pretty women doing kind deeds without some kind of ulterior motive. And why did he suddenly feel kind of… squishy?

He frowns a little at his thoughts, until a realization, accompanied by a cold sweat, dawns. He’s been distracted, he let his mind wander, and he knows in his gut before he even turns that he’s made a mistake.

There’s the gun pointed at him. Seconds pass while he takes it all in. The green-eyed woman with her thick dark hair curled under a baseball cap, holding the weapon at his face and demanding he holds up his hands. The other guy with the gun pushing the old man to the ground, as he races to the cashier. All of it soundtracked by the other customer’s screams. 

He has no choice but to raise his hands, but he’s calculating wildly while his heart thumps in his chest. The blonde woman is on the ground now, bending over the old man who looks out cold.

“Keep your hands where I can see them – above your head!” yells the woman with the gun, but she keeps it pointed at Sawyer.

“He needs medical attention” the blonde says, and Sawyer is struck by her icy calmness given the severity of the situation.

The cashier is struggling to count out notes when a deafening alarm blares through the room. Someone somewhere has managed to press a help button. Sawyer catches his breath and eyes the woman with the gun.

At the same, the other criminal swears loudly, waving his gun in the cashier’s face, hurrying him, but then they all the sound of sirens approaching. He swears again before turning and attempting to run. In his panic he trips, and his gun skitters across the floor. [It’s only afterwards that Sawyer realizes that the blonde woman had deliberately stuck her leg out to trip him.]

“Shit” The woman holding the gun lunges towards the other thief, lowering her own weapon automatically, and then turns in panic as she remembers Sawyer. It’s too late. In her moment of indecision, he’s disarmed her but before he can reach her, she turns and races from the building.

The other gun is still on the floor and the downed thief’s outstretched fingers have almost got a hold of it, but the blonde woman reaches it first. Sawyer isn’t going to miss any more chances and he lands on the guy’s back, pining his arms behind him.

“Stay right where you are John Dillinger,” he huffs.

Before the rest of the mall’s security reach them, there’s a silence where he and the blonde stare wordlessly at one another. The gun is balanced on her hands where she rests on her knees, like it might go off at any moment. She smiles wobbly at him, and for a moment, he pictures sunshine and palm trees and tropical breezes that are so different to the humidity of the bank. But then she remembers the elderly man lying in front of her and drops the gun with a flinch of revulsion.

“He needs an ambulance now!” she says, urgently, and then the other customers are on their feet crowding round, and the cops flood into the building, and their moment is gone. The mall cops want to question Sawyer and he soon loses track of the blonde as he tries to relay everything that happened.

“We saw that crook woman fleeing in a baseball cap” one of the other guards tells him. “But she managed to get past all our guys. Looks like she knows how to run.”

“Right,” Sawyer replies, thinking of the desperation in her vivid green eyes. “Didn’t seem to care too much about the friend she left behind, huh?”

From the room where they’re questioning him, he can hear the ambulance arrive and he’s itching to get out before the blonde woman leaves. When he does get out, however, the bank floor is empty and he struggles to contain his disappointment. They’d shared a moment, and it had seemed to him something more than just the situation, heightened though it had been.

He tries to shake her out of his mind, but she proves hard to remove. She’d been the one who’d distracted him enough that he’d completely missed the beginning of the damn heist and that green-eyed chick had been able to get a jump on him. Shaking his head, he tries to concentrate on the job, but by the time his break rolls around he’s questioning whether keeping this job will be worth the amount of paperwork he has to fill in.

He heads outside, drinking in the slightly fresher air from the mall air con and immediately sees the blonde woman sat on the edge of a fountain, staring at the ground.

Could she be waiting for him? He approaches her. “Well, hi,” he says.

She looks up at him, her expression fixed, and he almost takes a step backwards, such is the intensity of her blue eyes. They are piercing, definitely, yet, at the same time, again evoke sensations of a tropical summer – palm trees, sandy shores, and the smell of ripe mangoes.

“Everything okay?” she asks, and she still looks like she could be in shock.

He nods. “You okay?”

She repeats his nod back to him, smiling at him, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I guess I just wanted to thank you,” he says gruffly. “For in there.” He looks down at the ground. “You really had my back.”

He hesitantly lifts his eyes up to meet hers and she takes a sharp intake of breath at his words and then blinks in confusion.

After a pause, she says “I work at the hospital around the corner” and it all comes out in a jumble while she tugs at a strand of blonde hair at the edge of her face.

It's cute.

“Yeah, I work here,” he says with a smirk, gesturing around himself at the mall.

She smiles at him now. “My name is Juliet.”

“James,” he replies, and she smiles knowingly like she already knew what he was going to say. He contemplates sitting down next to her but then her smile fades and she looks away again. Staring at her, he realizes she’s twisting a wedding band on her finger. That doesn't make any sense and his resolve falters.

“Well, Juliet,” he says, amazed at the sound of her name from his mouth. “I guess I’ll see you around.” He turns to go but she calls after him.

“I get coffee every morning from that café before work,” she says, gesturing towards the coffee-shop near the front of the mall.

“Is that so?” Sawyer replies, raising an eyebrow. “Guess, I’ll have to remember that now.”

He walks away, smiling to himself and jangling his keys in his hand. She might have a husband, or at least a wedding ring, but something that feels more powerful than that is pulling them together.

That night, however, he has dreams.

Nightmares.

The blonde woman, Juliet, is in them, and, again, they are surrounded by sunshine and jungles and turquoise seas. Yet, something darker also lurks beneath these images and the dreams turn to gunshots and bright red blood, and, very vividly, the sensation of falling, endlessly falling, until he wakes with a start.

The next morning he rises in a tangled mess of sheets and sits up with a groan, rubbing his face with his hands. His answerphone bleeps with several messages from work but he deletes them without listening. He’s due at work in an hour, but he skips the shower, and instead sits staring at his uniform, palms outstretched on his knees.

He knew this job was coming to its natural end soon but if he doesn’t go to the mall, he won’t see Juliet. He desperately wants to see her again but when he closes his eyes he is haunted by visions of blood and darkness. He doesn’t understand what any of it means but it unsettles him.

The minutes pass and he remains frozen in his room. Eventually, he gets up and pulls down a holdall from the top of his wardrobe. He’s not going back to his job – not going back to the mall.

Later, as he drives away from his apartment he thinks sadly of Juliet. There had definitely been something drawing him to her, something like he’d never felt before in his lonely adult life. Yet, whatever it is, he doesn’t feel equipped to deal with it. She had brought light but also the threat of a complicated darkness. And she works at the hospital – she’s probably a doctor or something – and he’s a barely lapsed con-man. It’d never work.

* * *

For the next three days, Juliet sips her morning coffee in her favorite café in a mood of hopeful anticipation. She turns James’s words over in her head. _You had my back in there._ Why does it mean so much to her? Why does it stick so in her mind?

After four days of no shows, her resolve starts to weaken. But, no, he’ll show up. Their encounter had meant too much for him not to show up. She knows he’d felt it too.

After a week, she reminds herself that she still technically has a husband.

After another week, she gives up hope and forces herself to forget him. And, slowly, she does.


	4. Book store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliet works at a book store in Portland. There's someone she needs to track down with a limited edition of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

“Got him,” Juliet smiles, closing her laptop with a flourish. She swings around to face Miles and watches him slowly sort through a new stock pile of books.

“Great,” he says. Although he’d said it with his characteristic sarcasm, she notes that he looks pleased.

“Next Thursday,” she continues, undeterred by his lack of outward enthusiasm. “You’re working that day, right?”

“I am” he says and goes back to pricing the pile of books.

“Jim La Fleur,” she says, more to herself than anything, tapping her fingers on the laptop. “Very interesting name.”

“Wait, I thought his name was Ford?!” Miles asks, turning back.

She smiles, pleased to have regained his interest. “That’s one of his names. He has many names, Miles. But I believe I know them all.”

“Huh,” he says. “Seems like a lot of effort for some old books.”

“Actually, the rare book trade can be very lucrative and there is a large ring of organized crime these days who know this. She pauses for breath, intending to continue with some examples, but Miles hold his hand up in front of him.

“No more, please.”

Grinning, she concedes. She’ll admit she has been a little preoccupied with her mission to track down Jim La Fleur over the last few month, and Miles as the only employee of Carson Books, has heard a lot about it.

She puts her laptop away and goes to a locked cabinet, pulls on a pair of gloves, and carefully removes a hardback book from a sealed envelope.

_The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ she breathes, holding it aloft. “Limited edition… going for an exceptionally good price.”

“Yes, again, great work” Miles says, shaking his head, but Juliet is no longer listening. When he leaves for the evening, he calls goodnight to her and she gives him a distracted wave, still pouring over her Mark Twain.

* * *

On _the_ Thursday morning, Juliet arrives at the bookstore early to find Miles has already opened up. She raises her eyebrows as she approaches him.

“Well, you know, big day. Didn’t want to miss anything,” he shrugs.

She tries to avoid looking too pleased, and approaches the counter to join him. “So I don’t expect him to be here first thing,” she says, patting her hair flat. She picks up a framed picture of her sister Rachel under the Carson’s Books sign, which is propped next to the register, and runs her fingers over it.

Miles watches her. “Why is this so important to you anyway, Juliet?”

She blinks. She had thought she’d been doing a reasonable job of appearing calm today, but Miles had already read her. “Because of Rachel,” she reminds him. “This La Fleur conned her out of thousands of dollars. I’m can't let him get away with that.”

“Right,” Miles replies, but he doesn’t look convinced.

He was right. Her initial reasoning for tracking down Jim La Fleur _had_ been to get justice on Rachel’s behalf. When her sister had died three years ago, she’d moved to Portland to take over ownership of the vintage bookstore she’d owned, only then realizing her sister had been in some financial trouble. It appeared, she discovered, to be due to a purchase of some forged manuscripts and a con involving some rare editions that she'd be persuaded to let go at a fraction of their worth.

Luckily for Juliet, her own ex-husband had some contacts who had helped her track down the perpetrators of the scheme for a good price. (At least that marriage has been good for something, she thinks.)

So, this whole thing had started out as something to honor her sister’s memory, but the more time she’d spent searching, the more she’d been drawn to this Jim La Fleur, who appeared to be the mastermind of the plan. Or James Ford, or whatever his real name was. She’d found pictures of him online too, and had to admit that he wasn’t exactly unattractive. Despite her best intentions, she wondered if this was part of it. She had been divorced for quite some time.

Anyway, he was an enigma, crossing the country regularly, moving from place to place, in what she assumed were various schemes and jobs. (Harder to explain, was an apparent recent trip to Australia, in which he only stayed for a few days – and disappeared completely off radar while he was there.)

When she discovered he occasionally used the name Sawyer with his associates, it had caught her attention, and she started to hunt for any limited edition Mark Twain books and memorabilia she could get her hands on. She’d previously dangled some other random limited editions, but perhaps he’d sensed her desperation, because he hadn’t taken the bait.

But now she had him. An extremely rare, gold foil limited edition of _Tom Sawyer_ that she’d fortuitously found in a box of donations and advertised at a knowingly low price online. Was it fate that had delivered it to her door at the perfect time? It felt like it.

Miles is still staring at her, so she needlessly tidies some pens on the counter and tries to keep her emotions in check. “I’m going into the back now, just let me know when he comes in, okay?”

“Okay, boss,” Miles calls after her. His sarcasm barely hidden. When Rachel died, Juliet had intended to take over the bookstore in ownership only, and to hand over the management to someone else. As Mile was the only employee, mostly likely him. Yet, when she discovered the issue with the forged manuscripts she’d spent more and more time at the store and found comfort in the surroundings that had meant so much to her sister, her own career in medical research put on hold. Miles seemed to take her near constant presence with a mixture of irritation and amusement.

* * *

It’s mid-morning when La Fleur finally arrives, and Juliet has had three coffees while waiting. Be calm, she tells herself, trying to bring her medical training to the front of her mind, and to forget how much this man had hurt her sister.

“What is it, Miles?” she asks, innocently, approaching the register when he calls her out front. Miles chokes back a laugh at her tone which he tries to disguise as a cough.

Now she’s face to face with La Fleur, or Ford, or Sawyer, and she flashes him a professionally bland smile to give herself time to look at him. Wearing a dark leather jacket over and open-necked shirt and jeans, he’s tan and taller than she expected. His hair is long enough to cover his neck and he runs a hand through it, as he looks back at her.

“You’re the boss here then?” he asks in his southern drawl, and she realizes she’s attracted to him in real life too.

He cocks an eyebrow at her lack of response, and as he smirks, she feels a sense of deja-vu. She’s seen this man somewhere before and it’s not just in her online sleuthing.

“Well, you aint the boss then?” he laughs. “I’m just here to pick up a book I ordered.”

“Right, yes I am,” she answers, keeping her voice steady. “I know why you’re here.”

“Well, okay then,” he says, raising his hand up like he expects the transaction to continue normally.

She turns away from him to shuffle some paperwork and steal herself a moment. Before he’d arrived, she’d had everything planned out. Knew exactly what she was going to say to him. But now he’s here and looking and acting like that, and she’s thrown. She reminds herself to think of Rachel.

“Sure, I’ve got that for you” she says, turning back to him. “One moment, please.”

He smiles at her, but his eyes flick uncomfortably towards Miles for a second.

“Have you come far?” she asks, stalling for time.

“Not so far, no.”

She suspects that’s a lie. “You know, I think we’ve done business with you before, Mr La Fleur?”

“Don’t recall.” He tips his head back. “Think I might remember a lady like you. Most other booksellers aren’t quite so… fetching.”

“It wasn’t with me. My sister used to own this place.”

“Oh.” His smile drops. “Maybe. Guess I bought a lot of books in my life.”

Juliet smiles sweetly and places the envelope with the book in front of him. “You haven’t been to Portland then?” she asks. She taps the top of the book. “Sawyer.”

“Huh.” He blinks in confusion and looks across at Miles again and then back at her.

“Tom Sawyer,” she says, taking the book out of the package to show him.

He gives a relieved laugh. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m here for.” He hands over his credit card and she checks the name – J. La Fleur.

“So, you haven’t been here before then? To Portland?” she continues, noticing that he looks more agitated now.

“Maybe I have. I travel a lot, see. Could have been through a long time ago.”

“That’s interesting,” Juliet replies, keeping her tone level. “Because I’m sure my sister would definitely remember you.” She pauses. “Given that you robbed her of thousands of dollars.”

There’s a silence. La Fleur stares at her. Then he flashes her a smile. “Not sure I know what you’re talking about sweetheart.”

Unmoved, she stares back at him.

“Think you’ve got the wrong person,” he adds.

“Jim La Fleur?” she asks, knowing there’s no going back now. “Or is it James Ford?”

He looks at her quizzically, smirking. “You got a file on me or something, Blondie?”

“Something like that,” she shoots back. “Sawyer.” As she says his _other_ name, her hand brushes the book at the same time his does, and their fingers touch.

Woah. She jumps back from him. Her head is full of past memories of him, like she’s just recalled them from a dream. They must be memories. She’s sat on a white sand beach in the dazzling sunshine watching him emerge from the ocean. _Nice day for a swim_. Then they’re in a dense jungle running from something and she doesn’t know where they are, but the light is so bright that she knows that they definitely aren’t in Portland.

He’s frowning at her like he’d felt something too, and she’s sure he did, but then he shrugs as if shaking something off. “Look, I just want to take this damn book,” he says.

“But you…” She breaks off. She needs to stick to her plan but she’s forgotten what it is. Was she going to the cops? That doesn’t seem right. Try and get money from him? All she really wanted was for him to admit what he did to her sister. An apology would be nice but really the admittance is all she needs.

His jaw is clenched now and he won’t meet her eyes. “Miles,” he growls, looking over to him. “What’s going on here?”

Miles’ mouth hangs open. “I… uh… do I know you?” he splutters.

La Fleur waves him away. “Like I said, I’m just here to collect my book. I don’t care what I have to pay for it. I can.. I can give you more. We all know it’s worth more anyway.”

He looks wounded, hanging his head, and Juliet remembers another memory. They’re in a clearing by a well, watching a man climb down a rope. There’s a flash of bright light, a terrible noise, and then the man and the well disappear leaving only soil behind. La Fleur pounds the ground, screaming for the man (Locke, she recalls) and it’s her who crouches down to console him.

“We were close,” she murmurs, moving around the register towards him. She’s not sure if she means herself and Rachel or herself and him.

He shakes his head and tells her again that he just wants the books. Needs the books. That it means a lot to him. For personal reasons.

“James.” Stretching out towards him, she places her hand gently on his arm. He softens for a moment but then shakes her off, moving abruptly away from her. “Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember me?” She needs him to remember. Needs him to help her put the pieces together of whatever it is she’s experiencing.

He still won’t look at her properly, drawing into himself. “I can’t. I knew I shouldn't have come back to this place.”

It makes no sense to her. Does he really not recollect or is he determined to forget? She’s certain that he felt something when their hands touched. But he’s pulled away from her, somewhere where she can’t reach. Confused, she gives in. “You really just want the book?” she asks, quietly.

As she rings it through and hands it over to him, she realizes she doesn’t care about the money any more. There doesn’t seem to be any point. It won’t bring Rachel back, and her world suddenly seems to be upside down. What does money matter.

Apparently, he’s thinking about something similar. “It ain’t about the money,” he mutters. “I’ve been looking for this edition for a long time.” He dares to look into her face once before he turns and walks away and disappears into the dark, wet Portland afternoon.

“James?” she calls after him, but it’s too late.

Not knowing what to do, she turns to Miles. He grimaces at her, looking as shell shocked as she feels. He’d witnessed it all.

“Miles, what just happened?”

“I don’t know, Juliet,” he says, slowly. “But I don’t think this is our real life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have taken some liberties with the world of rare books and private investigating in this chapter, but let's just roll with it.


	5. School Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sawyer returns to his daughter's school but is it too late for him to reunite with Juliet?

“So, you want me to help with this school show thing?” Sawyer asks Cassidy, in a tone somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“No,” she rebuffs him. “Clementine would like you to help.” She crosses her arms frostily, refusing to meet his eye.

“Huh, me – really?” He tries not to look too pleased. He’s been showing up for Clementine for over three years now, and she seems comfortable with his presence, but she’s never exactly specifically asked for him. Every previous interaction had come from himself or Cassidy.

“I’m working,” Cassidy says, bluntly. “And I think you owe her enough to show up for this, don’t you?”

“Well, sure,” he quickly agrees. Things may be good now with his daughter, but her mom still never misses a chance to remind him of his past failings, and he likes to move this sort of conversation quickly along before it has chance to ignite. “It just don’t exactly sound like my type of thing. I ain’t exactly Johnny Depp."

Cassidy rolls her eyes and tells him he’ll be helping move props and chairs around backstage, not coaching acting to any of the kids.

“Well, alright then, since you put it like that, I’ll be there,” he agrees, and she visibly softens towards him. It’s unlikely she’ll ever forgive him fully for taking off before Clementine was born and not returning, but these days they mostly manage an uneasy truce.

He, of course, doesn’t tell her the other reason he’s wary to show up at the middle school again. Clem’s teacher – that biology teacher – Ms Carlson. The specific reason he’d not been back to his daughter’s school in over a year. To stay away from the teacher he’d felt such a powerful attraction towards. The one he’d been dreaming about ever since he’d last seen her at that parent/teacher evening.

* * *

The morning of the show, and Clementine is visibly excited when he picks her up, which doesn’t help his own nerves.

“So, then?” He clears his throat. “You gonna be telling me what I’m gonna be doing again today? It ain’t exactly my area of expertise”. He nudges her shoulder with his.

She laughs, tossing her dark blonder hair out of her face. “Jim, it’s no big deal, okay. Just relax. You’ll just be helping out with backstage stuff.”

No big deal. That’s right, for most people this kind of thing would be no big deal. Helping their kids out with extra-curriculars is run of the mill. For him, it feels life-changing. He grunts. “Well, I can move and fetch stuff. I ain’t too shabby with a paintbrush either.”

“Ms Carlson will tell you what to do when we get there.” She laughs when he just stares blankly at her. “My biology teacher, remember? I thought you liked her. She sometimes helps out with drama club. She’s usually pretty nice and she has a red car.”

He tells her that he remembers and sits silently, taking in this random outpouring preteen information. They don’t say much else for the rest of the drive. It doesn’t surprise him that she is going to be there. It’s inevitable really.

* * *

The first person he sees when they arrive at the school is Miles, a buddy he’d made recently through one of his jobs. Miles had been vehement that Sawyer attend the school play. Weirdly so, actually, for someone who didn’t have a kid in school.

“Hey Jim,” he greets him, and he reiterates how glad he is that Sawyer made it. He makes a noncommittal noise in return and raises an eyebrow at the cardboard palm tree in Miles’s arms. There are also various palm trees dotted around the hall now he looks. The show is Robinson Crusoe, Miles explains, which somehow makes perfect sense.

Miles is there to work on the sound for the evening to help out a buddy and he pulls Sawyer over to an area surrounded by speaker systems. “So,” he asks, with an uncharacteristic amount of energy. “What’s your plan?”

Sawyer stares at him in confusion. “What the hell you talkin’ about?” He tries to recollect if he’s previously told Miles about the feelings he’s had for Ms Carlson [Juliet] but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t. Miles digs him in the ribs and looks beyond him, and then Sawyer turns around and sees _her_ across the hall.

She’s explaining something a group of middle-schoolers and her expression is soft and patient. A patch of sunlight hits where she’s standing and her hair is a golden halo surrounding her. He stares at her until she looks up and notices him. She looks at him blankly for a moment, as if puzzling something out, and then gives him the briefest of smiles, before she’s drawn back into the drama of her pupils.

Clementine is back by his elbow and leading him towards her. All the other adults stand around as Juliet directs them where to go and what to do. She turns to him last of all. “Clementine’s dad? Mr Ford, right?” We’re so glad you could make it.”

We? Who, is the _we_? Does she mean the school, because he’s really only here for her and Clementine.

“Juliet!” Miles appears and greets her warmly, conveying a message about something to do with sound system. She chats back to him sarcastically, like they’re old friends and, confused, Sawyer asks her if they know each other.

“Of course,” she replies, as if it was an obvious question, and Miles flashes him a brief, knowing smile before disappearing again. 

He frowns after him, feeling a hint of irritation at not being in on an apparent secret, until Juliet lightly touches his arm. “C’mon, you can help me with these?” She’s carrying a large bulk of material over one arm, which she explains is a ship’s sails for set dressing. He follows her to the stage where she begins unfolding the material. Her gaze is calmly fixed on the intricacy of measuring out the material, and he watches her for moment, before crouching down next to her.

“So, you in charge here then?” he asks, gruffly.

“Oh, no,” she replies. “I’m just the biology teacher. They wouldn’t leave me in charge here unless they wanted the show to be a live frog dissection.”

She stares and then breaks out into a smile.

“Ha,” he grins, appreciatively. “That’s funny.” He runs his hands over the material. “The Black Rock, right?”

The _Black Rock_? Huh? Why had he said that? He knew it wasn’t the name of the ship in Robinson Crusoe, he was well read enough for that. But it was in his mind. A large ship, full of deep, dark secrets, buried far in the jungle. Somewhere he’d been before, somewhere where something terrible had happened. Had she been there too?

Shaking his head, he sits back on his heels and stares at Juliet who looks up to meet his eye. “Yes,” she says. “The Black Rock, do you remember it?”

“Did you have those dreams too?” he asks her. “The ones where we kept meeting?” His tone is urgent now.

She remains calm. “James, they weren’t dreams.” Her hand brushes his. “Everything happened.”

He grabs his hand back from her as if he’d been stung. “What, the coffee shop? That what happened in the bank? The goddamn bookshop?”

She nods unsurely and moves slowly closer to him. “I think that they did in someway, because I remember them too.” A large smile breaks out across her face and she covers her mouth. “Don’t you remember the rest? Us? Remember us and the island?” Her hand instinctively reaches for his arm and this time he remembers. The island. The bluest ocean. The plane crash, and finally the little yellow house full of flowers and warmth and home-cooked food. Their home.

He leans towards her. “Juliet…” but then, as his face is almost touching hers, he sees her. Trapped, buried, and broken, and he stops, pulling away defensively. They’re still in the school hall and it hits him like cold water. “Clem, I need to talk to Clementine.”

Juliet nods, okay -- remaining sat down, looking up at him. She’ll still be here waiting for him.

Looking around the hall, he finds Clementine helping a friend into a costume for the show. He can see the resemblance to him in her features now, although he's never made it out before. “Clementine!” He grabs her shoulder and she turns, her face still lit up from chatting with her friends.

“What is it?” She looks at him and her smile falters as she takes in his expression. She's calculating in her head/

“I gotta…” he starts, and her face closes up and he can’t do it to her. Their relationship is the best it’s ever been right now, but she’s reading him and it’s clear she’s bracing for disappointment. That he might have found some excuse to ditch and run from her and this place. “You good?” he asks instead. “You need a snack or anything?”

Her relief is instant and then normal pre-teen embarrassment begins to creep in. “No, no, I guess I’m fine, dad.”

 _Dad_. He’s always been just Jim to her. A simple, unsentimental Jim. Right then, he knows she’s going to be fine. She’d already turned away from him and back to her friends, her attention back on them, as it should be. She's going to be fine. He feels a sense of peace wash over him and he returns to Juliet to find her balanced on top of some stage scaffolding, persevering with hanging out the sails. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him.

It takes an instant, that feels like an hour, for him to realize what’s going to happen next. A younger guy is pushing part of the ship staging out onto the stage, but he’s distracted, not looking where he’s going, and he’s heading straight towards the scaffolding with Juliet perched on top.

He cries out her name in warning, barrelling towards the stage, but it’s too late. She’s leaning out at an awkward angle and not looking, and then there’s a crash and a scream and the structure lurches and wobbles. She’s falling and falling -- falling again -- the folds of white pulling her downwards, while the grey bars of scaffolding collapse around her. He’s the first to reach her but she’s on the ground by the time he does. Reaching for her hand, her tries to get as close to her as possible, frantically clearing the fallen objects away from and out of his way. Her head is cut along her hairline and he wipes the blood away from her face. “James,” she smiles weakly.

“I’m here,” he says. “I got you. You’re gonna be okay. I ain’t leaving you and you ain’t leaving me.”

She’s pinned under a metal pole he can’t remove, and he's pulling and heaving and eventually drops it with frustration, pulling her close instead. This can’t happen again, he thinks, pushing away the agony of last time she fell, and when he had her in his arms. Other people are starting to gather around them now and he looks through the crowd of various adults. Teachers and parents of all kinds, muttering drawing closer.

“Doc” he calls, spotting a guy with tidily cut dark hair and a neatly pressed shirt, tucked into chino trousers.

“Me?” the guy looks unsure "I am doctor but how did you....", and he moves towards them, loosening his tie.

“I know you are,” Sawyer snaps, and motions him to help him lift the metal pipe from Juliet’s leg. Wordlessly, they work together to heave it away, and then the doctor crouches down to examine her. Sawyer can’t breathe as the seconds tick agonizingly by, but eventually the doctor lifts his head up towards him.

“She’s going to be fine,” he exhales, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You just need to hold this here to stop the bleeding and I’ll call an ambulance.” But his voice is already fading away. Sawyer takes hold of the blood-soaked cloth and pulls Juliet back into his arms. The doctor stands back now to give them the privacy they so clearly crave, and whispers to himself, “I did it, she’s going to be alright. This time it worked.” He disappears back into the crowd.

“Juliet,” Sawyer says, quietly. “I’m here and I’m staying here.” Her hand brushes up to his face, stroking a thumb across his cheek. 

“I know,” she whispers. “I knew you’d remember. And now we have all the time in the world.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he continues, kissing her forehead. “Damn, I was so scared, Blondie. I didn’t want to remember losing you all over again.” His voice catches in his throat and she shushes him.

“Just kiss me, James,” she orders, and he does. They sit together as the rest of the room fades to black. Still entangled in the white swathes of fabric, palm trees surround them, with the backdrop of a painted bright cerulean sea and a warm, golden sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Sitting here listening to 'La Fleur' on the OST and writing fan fics like it's 2007. I hope you enjoy this multi-chapter story.


End file.
